


Luthor's Are Cool

by Faramirlover



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faramirlover/pseuds/Faramirlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Kent has always hated Luthors.<br/>Johnathan!POV fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luthor's Are Cool

**Author's Note:**

> Import of fic of the same name from Fanfiction.net

Jonathan Kent had always thought of himself as tolerant man. Everyone liked and respected him and unless he had been done a personal wrong he held no ill feeling towards anyone. Until Lex Luthor came along. The young man had been an instant thorn in his side from the moment he had almost killed his son.

The billionaire was reckless, dangerous and above all a Luthor. And for some reason Clark practically worshipped the ground he walked on. Jonathan could not understand it. Lex had nearly killed him and yet Clark followed him around like a lost puppy and Jonathon found himself, for the first time in nearly fourteen years, unsure of his position in his son’s life. Since they’d found Clark (been found by Clark) he’d been the most important man in Clark’s world, someone to be looked up to and obeyed and adored. When Clark was a child he’d waddled around the farm after him wearing Jonathan’s spare wellingtons, which reached almost to the tops of his legs, and a checked shirt so large that the hem brushed the ground and Martha had had to fold back the sleeves to almost half their length, patting cows as Jonathan milked them and settling himself in Jonathan’s lap as he drove the tractor. Sure, Clark cherished Martha, curled up on the sofa with her after dinner when he was tired, wanted her to read him bed time stories, wanted her cuddles when he was upset, but his Dad was his hero and Jonathan had always loved having someone look up to him.

But now Clark was so busy staring at Luthor with his big adoring eyes that he didn’t have time for his boring, only-a-farmer dad anymore. Where his son had once run to him for advice he was instead running off to the Luthor mansion, turning to the bald billionaire for answers on anything form chemistry homework to girl troubles. And Luthor was filling his brain with God knows what.

And the worst thing was that it was probably all his fault that Luthor was as obsessed with his son as Clark seemed to be with him. If he hadn’t made Clark give that blasted truck back then the Luthor heir would never have given Clark a second thought. Instead Clark had become the epitome of unique and interesting rather than a debt that had been paid and forgotten. If only Clark hadn’t rescued him from that damn river.

Jonathan felt instantly bad about that thought. He may want Luthor out of their lives but wishing someone dead was not something that a Kent did. It was something a Luthor did. Maybe Luthor’s mere presence in the farmhouse was enough for his evil to rub off on him. God knew what actually being in the same room as him for extended periods was doing to Clark. Jonathan thanked his lucky stars that they spent so little time here, instead preferring hang out at the mansion surrounded by all the entertainment that money could buy.

He set down the knife that he was using to chop vegetables (Martha had explicitly warned him about not waving knives in Lex’s direction, before propping to the shop) and went to the bottom of the stairs. Clark and his _friend_ were ensconced in his room and had been for the better part of the day, only the occasional deep laugh or burst of loud excited chatter to show they were there at all. However, he hadn’t heard anything from upstairs in nearly an hour and all he could think was that Luthor had finally shown himself as the psycho he was and murdered Clark in a fit of pique. Despite knowing that it was near impossible to hurt Clark he still found himself ascending the stairs to press an ear to Clark’s door. Still nothing. Certainty of his worst fears being realised had him pushing the door open without knocking.

“Clark-” he cut himself off and stared at the bed.

Clark was spread eagled across the bed, fast asleep and snoring lightly with an arm wrapped around Lex Luthor as he slept too. Jonathan backed out of the room slowly, silently shutting the door, un-necessary for Clark, as his son slept like the dead, but who knew how Luthor’s slept. Well… Clark apparently.

He stood frozen on the landing, horrified at the implications that that cuddling, for it had definitely been cuddling, held. Were they together? If they weren’t yet it didn’t look like it would be long before they were. Were they having sex? Jonathan shuddered at the thought. Not because he was homophobic or anything, but because the idea of his son having sex with anyone was truly terrifying.

“Jonathan? You’d better have done more than chop half a carrot whilst I was gone,” Martha’s tone was light but the undercurrent of warning his wife’s voice had him scurrying back down to the kitchen.

“Martha…” he began, unsure how to voice his suspicions “have you ever wondered about how close Clark and… Lex are?”

If she noticed the use of Luthor’s given name she didn’t mention it, instead picked up the shopping where he’s left off.

“If you’re about to go off on another tirade about how all Luthor’s are the devil incarnate then I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“No. I was just thinking about how maybe it’s time to give Clark another ‘talk’.”

Instead of looking puzzled or shocked as he expected her to, Martha smiled.

“I sorted that out months ago, love. I figured I’d know more about Clark’s situation than you, you know, what with growing up in the city.”

She treated him to a rather patronising pat on the cheek and nudged him in the direction of the back door.

“See if the chickens have laid any more eggs. Clark says Lex’s chef simply cannot make a good pancake and I’m sure the lad would like a treat before you start on your overprotective father speech.”

He left, consoling himself as he went that he now had a valid excuse to threaten Lex Luthor with a shotgun.


End file.
